Isn't it interesting what we call our ancestors and parents! My mother called her father Papa, and her mother Mama. My brothers and I said Mama and Daddy. My kids say Mom and Dad, or in teasing, like their southern cousins, Da-ah-dee. By his children my grandad was called Pa. Their mother was Ma. My mother always thought it would be nice to be called Mother and Grandmother. I am sorry I never did that, since it was important to her. My brother's children, however, having been raised near her, have done as she wished. My girls were much closer to their western cousins and called them the same, Grandma and Grandpa. I don't think my parents appreciated it.
I think my dad must have said something to his father when he came to live with us, like"Don't ever lay a hand on my kids!" There were times when I am sure he wanted to, but my dad had seen enough of cruelty when he was a child.
I don't think I was a problem child, just extremely active. Once I climbed up into a young peach tree, and got my foot stuck in a notch. My crying brought both my mother and my grandfather. His advice was, "While she is stuck up there is the time to teach her a lesson." He cut a whip and handed it to her. She whispered for me to scream like I was really hurting, but she managed to hit the tree much harder than she hit me. I shall never forget how he danced around, like someone cheering at a ball game, really excited to see me suffer. "Hit her hard! Hit harder!"
Grandaddy lived with Uncle Walter as I was growing up. He formed a very close attachment to their first boy, Elmer, became the baby's caretaker, and when he was old enough to take on the buggy with his pony, Toby, at the reins they were a pair of travelers. Uncle Walter said Elmer had no chance to be disobedient, because he was never away from his protector. All of us were glad it was Elmer he liked best instead of us.
My grandfather died in 1945 from a condition called locked bowels, probably diverticulitis. My own father shared the same fate, and after suffering in a coma for a week after he was hospitalized (first time in his life) the doctor told me that he had probably had a stroke in a colon muscle which had paralyzed activity in that section of the colon, a situation which could have been fixed easily at Duke U. hospital, which was less than two hours away. Since I never have pain, or at least a very high threshold, if I get that condition, I will know what it is. I just hope I am not in the middle of the ocean
My grandmother did not go to Grandaddy's funeral with all of us. He is buried beside his first wife, Ida.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Grandmammy Eva
She had every reason to be miserable, but somewhere along the way she must have decided to be pleasant, and I loved to be with her, a short, very fat woman with no lap, who always told me I should eat more fat so I would be pretty. I could not bring myself to tell her I did not want to be fat like her. I knew I would never be pretty. I was too skinny and was covered with freckles. It was a real treat to have her come for a visit. She was such a good cook, and always made some thing sweet for dinner, even if it was only pudding made with Irish potatoes, egg and sugar. When all the children except the youngest boy, Robert, had married and left, the two of them rented a small house and farmed together as share croppers until he was drafted into the army in 1941. After that she gave away her few household things and lived with different children until her death when I was a college freshman. She was barely sixty years old when her heart gave out.
Most of those last years she lived with Aunt Ruth, who like her sisters had married at 15. The year that I graduated from high school she lived with us and we shared a bedroom. Our house had no electricity, and the only good light to read by was in the living room. After she went to sleep, I would read by flashlight under my covers. The racy book of that year was Forever Amber, an English novel most teens secretly read.
She was very critical of some of my clothes, shorts in particular, but my mother did not pay any attention to her comments. The reason she was not living with her daughter was because they had moved to a house too small for her. I enjoyed our conversations when she would tell me about her life. After Granddaddy left her she became acquainted with the Mormon missionaries and would take all of her children to the new church built on land given by a new convert named Howard, and was called Howard's Chapel. One day in summer she took a big picnic lunch and planned to enjoy the whole day at a conference. Chicken wire was stretched between the pine trees, and the children were instructed to put a cloth on the wire and set out the food she had brought while she went inside to nurse her baby. The chapel was only one room divided for Sunday school classes by heavy white cotton curtains drawn between the rows. She simply went to the back of the room and drew a curtain around herself. A priesthood meeting was going on in the front of the room. She was informed that she could not be in the room; it was closed to women. She had no other place except the outhouse to nurse the baby, so she gathered up her famous fried chicken and her kids and went home, never to return. I have often wondered how her life might have changed, as well as the lives of most of her children, with the support and influence of the church.
Uncle Jim, the second brother, converted to Mormonism shortly after his mariage, and was her only child to do so. He was faithful in his attendance, but I wonder if he ever really understood it. They had only one child who was five years older than me, and the greatest influence in my early years. She was beautiful, had piano lessons, and played for all the meetings. Her father, Uncle Jim never participated, would not accept the priesthood, nor pay tithing. He and his family observed the word of wisdom, and he dearly loved all the missionaries, but he was very miserly. He is survived by one grandchild who has been a credit to him. The seed finally bore fruit. She was baptized and finds great joy in her church callings. She will have her temple blessings this year.
She was a religious woman, always taught her children to pray and read the Bible. She became aligned with Uncle Wayne and the Jehovas Witnesses, but she never became as strident as he. Uncle Wayne told my dad that sending me to college was a waste of money, because the world would come to an end before I ever got to use any of my fancy knowledge.
Most of those last years she lived with Aunt Ruth, who like her sisters had married at 15. The year that I graduated from high school she lived with us and we shared a bedroom. Our house had no electricity, and the only good light to read by was in the living room. After she went to sleep, I would read by flashlight under my covers. The racy book of that year was Forever Amber, an English novel most teens secretly read.
She was very critical of some of my clothes, shorts in particular, but my mother did not pay any attention to her comments. The reason she was not living with her daughter was because they had moved to a house too small for her. I enjoyed our conversations when she would tell me about her life. After Granddaddy left her she became acquainted with the Mormon missionaries and would take all of her children to the new church built on land given by a new convert named Howard, and was called Howard's Chapel. One day in summer she took a big picnic lunch and planned to enjoy the whole day at a conference. Chicken wire was stretched between the pine trees, and the children were instructed to put a cloth on the wire and set out the food she had brought while she went inside to nurse her baby. The chapel was only one room divided for Sunday school classes by heavy white cotton curtains drawn between the rows. She simply went to the back of the room and drew a curtain around herself. A priesthood meeting was going on in the front of the room. She was informed that she could not be in the room; it was closed to women. She had no other place except the outhouse to nurse the baby, so she gathered up her famous fried chicken and her kids and went home, never to return. I have often wondered how her life might have changed, as well as the lives of most of her children, with the support and influence of the church.
Uncle Jim, the second brother, converted to Mormonism shortly after his mariage, and was her only child to do so. He was faithful in his attendance, but I wonder if he ever really understood it. They had only one child who was five years older than me, and the greatest influence in my early years. She was beautiful, had piano lessons, and played for all the meetings. Her father, Uncle Jim never participated, would not accept the priesthood, nor pay tithing. He and his family observed the word of wisdom, and he dearly loved all the missionaries, but he was very miserly. He is survived by one grandchild who has been a credit to him. The seed finally bore fruit. She was baptized and finds great joy in her church callings. She will have her temple blessings this year.
She was a religious woman, always taught her children to pray and read the Bible. She became aligned with Uncle Wayne and the Jehovas Witnesses, but she never became as strident as he. Uncle Wayne told my dad that sending me to college was a waste of money, because the world would come to an end before I ever got to use any of my fancy knowledge.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Grandmammy and Granddaddy
These were the names we used for the only grandparents we knew. As I mentioned, we did not know my mother's family. It seems my daddy had a falling out with her father shortly after they were married, over an access road to his property. He was a land owner, and probably did not approve of my mother's marriage. The fact that she eloped with one of the rowdy Stroud boys seems likely, since their marriage was unattended by any relatives on either side. It took place in the home of the justice of the peace in Kennansville, the county seat of the adjoining Jones County.
My grandmother was awakened after everyone was in bed. She simply moved two sleeping children from their bed to the feet of two other beds and gave the newly weds their bed, in the same room with another bed of children. At that time my dad, Emmett, was the oldest at home. There were six older who had married and moved out.
My Uncle Hubert was the oldest, the son who helped his mother deliver her last baby. Right at the end of the first world war in 1918 he was drafted in the army, but the war was over before he was trained. In 1941 the youngest boy, Uncle Robert, was drafted and spent the whole war, most of it in Europe in the army. In between there were seven boys who missed military duty.
My mother's life was very hard. My grandmother must have felt very sorry for her. She was able to give my parents a small room by themselves the day after their marriage, and they did not live there long. My dad found a job with a dredging crew on the coast and when I was born 13 months later he was up in Delaware, and my mother was boarding with a nice family in the tiny fishing village of Swansboro. She often spoke of the kindness of all the people on the street who took care of her when her husband could not be there. Today there is a waterway all the way from Maine to Florida that my dad helped dig. It was probably some of the happiest days of her life, no heavy farm work to do, only a cute little red headed baby to take care of, with no shortage of baby sitters volunteering.
My mother was beautiful, with black wavy hair and black eyes. I looked just like my dad. My mother kept her good looks in spite of her hard life. In high school a boy once said to me that he thought my mother was the most beautiful woman around, and if I were as pretty, he would take me out.
When the waterway was built my dad was ready to move back to the farm near his mother. During that year my brother Bill was born. I was two and a half. Shortly after he was born we moved to Craven County, near New Bern, and lived there until I was in first grade. It was a hugh antibellum house that had been very nice, but had not been painted since the Civil War. The once fancy wall paper was peeled away and bed bugs were living in the cracks. I remember my mother looking for bugs by lantern light and squashing them on the mattress. The corners and seams were red with bug juice. She wiped everything with kerosene to kill the bugs she called "chinches". Her life was almost unbearable. My dad had a car, and was gone with his friends at night. My mother would cry when he had lipstick on his shirt collar. This is the sort of behavior she grew to expect from him for most of her life.
I had intended to write more about my grandparents, but by the time my parents were married they had separated. Uncle Hubert had married and had four boys. The next was Uncle Wayne, who became one of the first Jehovas Witnesses in the area. He married a woman from a nice family. She inherited a large farm, but he went through it
My grandmother was awakened after everyone was in bed. She simply moved two sleeping children from their bed to the feet of two other beds and gave the newly weds their bed, in the same room with another bed of children. At that time my dad, Emmett, was the oldest at home. There were six older who had married and moved out.
My Uncle Hubert was the oldest, the son who helped his mother deliver her last baby. Right at the end of the first world war in 1918 he was drafted in the army, but the war was over before he was trained. In 1941 the youngest boy, Uncle Robert, was drafted and spent the whole war, most of it in Europe in the army. In between there were seven boys who missed military duty.
My mother's life was very hard. My grandmother must have felt very sorry for her. She was able to give my parents a small room by themselves the day after their marriage, and they did not live there long. My dad found a job with a dredging crew on the coast and when I was born 13 months later he was up in Delaware, and my mother was boarding with a nice family in the tiny fishing village of Swansboro. She often spoke of the kindness of all the people on the street who took care of her when her husband could not be there. Today there is a waterway all the way from Maine to Florida that my dad helped dig. It was probably some of the happiest days of her life, no heavy farm work to do, only a cute little red headed baby to take care of, with no shortage of baby sitters volunteering.
My mother was beautiful, with black wavy hair and black eyes. I looked just like my dad. My mother kept her good looks in spite of her hard life. In high school a boy once said to me that he thought my mother was the most beautiful woman around, and if I were as pretty, he would take me out.
When the waterway was built my dad was ready to move back to the farm near his mother. During that year my brother Bill was born. I was two and a half. Shortly after he was born we moved to Craven County, near New Bern, and lived there until I was in first grade. It was a hugh antibellum house that had been very nice, but had not been painted since the Civil War. The once fancy wall paper was peeled away and bed bugs were living in the cracks. I remember my mother looking for bugs by lantern light and squashing them on the mattress. The corners and seams were red with bug juice. She wiped everything with kerosene to kill the bugs she called "chinches". Her life was almost unbearable. My dad had a car, and was gone with his friends at night. My mother would cry when he had lipstick on his shirt collar. This is the sort of behavior she grew to expect from him for most of her life.
I had intended to write more about my grandparents, but by the time my parents were married they had separated. Uncle Hubert had married and had four boys. The next was Uncle Wayne, who became one of the first Jehovas Witnesses in the area. He married a woman from a nice family. She inherited a large farm, but he went through it
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